Discworld Music Meme 4
by Miss Yetigoosecreature
Summary: A little light dwarf opera, anyone?


Originally appeared on my Livejournal August 9, 2009.

Meme Instructions  
oo1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.  
oo2. Turn on your music player and put it on random/shuffle.  
oo3. Write a drabble related to each song that plays. You only have the time frame of the song to finish the drabble; you start when the song starts, and stop when it's over. No lingering afterwards!  
oo4. Do ten of these, then post them.

This was a very odd collection of songs. Still, I was determined to at least write something that picked up the spirit of the song or the feeling of the tune. Bicycle Race was all about doing something fun and exciting, after all, even if Discworld doesn't know about bicycles just yet. Port Arthur Blues is very Louisiana hoedown. And Dirt Bike has several silly lyrics about self-propelled dirt bikes with seemingly sinister plans...

Bicycle Race (Queen Cover) by Lemon Demon

Sam Vimes crept across the roof, keeping close to the chimneys and outcrops of crumbling brick. Funny how he felt most alive when he was risking breaking his neck. It wasn't real policing unless, he admitted, feeling a little ashamed, it was something your wife and probably half the force didn't want you doing. That was when it was the most fun. He snaked around the chimney, clamped a hand onto the collar and hissed "You're nicked," before they both lost their footing and tumbled toward the edge of the roof.

I Had A Dream by Joss Stone

There was something special required to be a copper's wife. Mostly, it consisted of convincing yourself that, despite all probability to the contrary, everything was all right, even in your dreams. Even when your husband might be in the middle of a war zone. Sybil looked out the window in the vague direction of Borogravia, took in the moon, the same moon that would be shining there, while idly rocking the limp but curiously heavy little body nestled in the crook of her arm.

Finlandia by Sibelius

There was something about dwarf opera that pounded on the nerves, Vimes thought. It could be all the percussion. Dwarf opera was famous for it. Great, walloping walls of drumming. And lyrics that sounded like someone gargling gravel. And all the going on and on about gold. Unlike the tidy little pub versions, the operatic odes to gold tended to stick in a lot of tragedy and nearly-dying, only to be revived just long enough to sing a bit more about what a tragedy this was that some dwarf was being taken away from his gold by dying, and so on, before the little buggers finally had the decency to bloody well _die_, already. He had already perked up considerably five times this act, thinking they were finally getting on with expiring, only to be disappointed when they resurrected long enough for at least one more verse.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. If he thought he could get away with it, he would go to the loo and climb out the window. Problem is, Sybil was sure to give him that Look. And Comment. In a very definite tone of voice. That this was Not Done. Not at Diplomatic Functions. And there would be audible capitals on every single one of those things. He felt a pat on the back of his hand before the whisper came in his ear over the booming horns. "Steady on. It's over after one more verse."

"And they don't come back?" he asked hopefully.

There was a short laugh. "Probably not."

Orange Colored Sky by Natalie Cole

"Er... is all this really... necessary?" Sam asked weakly. He was still reeling from the encounter with the distant female relatives.

"All of what?" Sybil asked, fiddling with a paper lantern. "The wedding frippery?"

"It's very... er... frilly..." Sam offered. He was suffering from a distinct feeling of unreality, seeing all this cheerful ruffly stuff hanging about for the wedding reception. It was like a ruffle factory had exploded.

"The dress is an absolutely horrid meringue, too," Sybil said cheerfully and matter-of-factly. "I expect it will make them happy, though."

Speak by Nickel Creek

Sam struggled to make his tongue move. He fingered the object in his pocket, feeling the roundness, hefting it. He had practiced a few dozen times. Maybe hundreds. Now his damned tongue wouldn't even move. She looked at him, waiting a few long moments, which felt like an eternity, before quirking a questioning eyebrow at him. He felt like crawling under a rock, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. He finally managed to peel his tongue off the dry roof of his mouth. "I... went to a meeting." He couldn't get his eyes off hers, couldn't find any more words. Instead, he pulled the sobriety chip out of his pocket and fumbled it into her palm.

Port Arthur Blues by Jo-El Sonnier

"Very... ethnic..." Sam said, jerking his thumb back toward the inn. Sybil gave a soft snort of laughter into his shoulder. The music contrived to be even louder and tinnier out here. There were what seemed to be about a dozen squeeze boxes and stringed instruments and possibly yowling cats being played in there. Still, it had a sort of determined, wheezy, manic cheeriness to it, and he was in such a good mood that even the keen winter wind didn't have much bite to it. They had come out here to get away from the after-dinner smoke in the dining room for a few minutes. Uberwald did seem to love its pipes. It even smoked some of the ones it didn't play.

All My Life by K2 Grove

Sam Vimes considered the ceiling. It was easier than considering anything else. Problem was, the ceiling kept insisting on being shoved aside by other considerations. Duke. One part of him, well, about seven-eighths of him, truth be told, wanted to strangle Vetinari. But, well, it made Sybil happy, didn't it? And he certainly didn't mind making Sybil happy. Since getting back, there seemed to be something seeping into the crevices of his brain the same way sand in Klatch seemed to be able to find its way everywhere. He loved his wife and if she was happy, he was happy. He wanted to make her happy. He tried to wrap his head around that one, gave up and went back to considering the ceiling.

Keep Moving On by The Mavericks

He didn't stop patrolling. It didn't matter if it was cold, wet, his knees were giving him gyp, or if most of the Watch houses could tick along for weeks on end without his interference these days. He kept popping in, trying to catch them unawares, but it really wasn't much use. They usually got wind of it and the desk sergeant had things in order well before he got there. Still, it gave him a certain pride that he hadn't trained any stupid sergeants. There was plenty of time to not walk the streets when he was in the grave. Still, six o'clock was six o'clock. He headed out from the Dolly Sisters Watch House and pointed his toes toward Scoone Avenue.

It's Not Easy Bein' Green by Kermit The Frog

Sybil looked at the sad little green heap with concern. He was a runt, no doubt about that, and the rest of the nest had muscled him aside these last few days. He was small and weak enough that he might not make it. "Well, I suppose you could help take care of him, Young Sam" she said warily. The pleading eyes under the thick shock of brown hair brightened and he cradled the little dragon, dwarfed by the too-big handler's gloves, closer.

Dirt Bike by They Might Be Giants

"You really should be ashamed," Sybil said tersely.

"I was only teasing. I didn't know he would take it seriously," Sam protested.

"He's three. He takes everything you tell him seriously," Sybil said, sounding a little less angry.

"I was just being silly. I was trying to get him to sleep and I thought it would make him laugh and that would be it."

"Fine. But you get to get up next time he has the nightmare about self-propelled carts..."


End file.
